The Commonwealth of Nations Wingman Brigade
by Talibra
Summary: /There are probably better people to be gaining relationship advice from but England supposes if you can't trust your family, then who can you trust?/Contains every Commonwealth country one by one, eventual USUK and mild language, complete.
1. From Antigua to Samoa

**The Commonwealth of Nations Wingman Brigade**

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Deanon from the hetalia meme. The prompt was for the Commonwealth attempting to help England pull America; this fic contains Commonwealth-OCs (but not in an irritating way, I hope) and eventual USUK. Warning for mild language, too.

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><p><strong>One<strong>

It was, perhaps unexpectedly, Antigua-and-Barbuda that noticed England's shift in mood.

England is, by nature, easily enraged with a love of warfare and a crippling embroidery addiction, but he's different when he falls in love. He's still harsh even to his family but he's never quite as snappy, even when Antigua-and-Barbuda tries his best to start an argument with him. (It's all in good health. Antigua-and-Barbuda has always gotten along with England quite well, but there's nothing in the world more entertaining than getting on England's nerves.)

Antigua-and-Barbuda is the representative for islands with brilliant climates and warm weather, so it's only natural he would attempt to irritate England by shoving him into the Caribbean Sea. Antigua-and-Barbuda had expected England to be angry at getting drenched, wringing out his suit jacket and muttering a variety of swear words under his breath. But England had merely sighed, pulled himself up onto the pier and walked away.

That was the moment Antigua-and-Barbuda knew England was in love.

* * *

><p><strong>Two<strong>

It's in Australia's nature to be mischievous, but in an impish way, rather than malicious. He likes to spend his days sprawled out on the sand whilst dreaming up ways to get New Zealand into trouble. It's routine, living a relatively laid-back life and letting his Boss worry about everything for him. That's why, whenever England visits, Australia can devote all his time to getting England drunk.

Australia is proud of Fosters lager. It's his favourite brand and it's by far the best lager in the world because it's Australian through and through, so he's always keen to force England into drinking it. Luckily England doesn't seem to mind because he's quite fond of alcohol, even though he's never really been good at holding his drink. Tonight is no exception.

"You know," England announces, his words slurred and his hands shaking as he tries not to drop the beer can. "You know, I fucking hate America. He's so immature. I mean... I mean, _you_ turned out great, Austr... Austra... 'lia. You didn't need my help _all the time_ but America's jus' hopeless."

Australia doesn't know why England brought America up at all, so he asks- subtlety is not Australia's strong point. "What're you talking about America for?"

"He's a twat," England snaps. "I hate him. Hate, hate, can't be bothered; make him shut up, would you?"

England is rambling. Australia realises the real meaning behind England's words and he's extremely amused. "You in love, Gramps?"

"No," England says, quickly. "No, I'm not. _Fuck_, no. America and I? Haha, give me some credit, Australia; I have _standards_!"

But it's too late because Australia knows the truth.

* * *

><p><strong>Three<strong>

Though Mozambique is in the Commonwealth of Nations, she was never actually part of his Empire. She joined the Commonwealth because she quite liked England and his closest brothers- she's not a rich country by any means, but England has always been willing to help. She likes to think of herself as one of his favourites.

"Here," she says, seizing England's hand and leading him into the streets of Maputo. It's her capital and it's cripplingly poor but the people are optimistic. "You should wear brightly-coloured clothes because it keeps you happy. See my people? See them smiling?"

England doesn't understand what she means. He feels pity for her and she doesn't want that, not from him.

"If you wear brightly-coloured clothes, and if you're happy because you _look_ happy," she says, "America will like you more."

England's cheeks go bright red and she laughs.

* * *

><p><strong>Four<strong>

Even though Pakistan has been suspended twice from the Commonwealth, he still has some sort of respect for the countries of the United Kingdom. Just a little bit, but it's enough, he supposes.

"This," Pakistan says, slumping and leaning against the trunk, "is the _Cedrus deodara_. It's my national tree. Whaddya think?"

"It's..." England begins, trailing off. "It's..."

There's silence, and Pakistan smirks.

"It's quite tall," England says. "I like the shade of green."

He's weakened. He'd usually be cruel or insulting, not mellow and complimentary. He'd usually insult the tree and then insult everything Pakistan stands for.

"Don't change who you are for other people," Pakistan warns. "Don't you dare change for anyone, England."

"Why're you telling me this?" England asks, raising an eyebrow.

_Because you shouldn't change for America's sake_, Pakistan thinks, but he doesn't say it aloud.

* * *

><p><strong>Five<strong>

Sri Lanka is modest, but she's not called _The Pearl of the Indian Ocean_ for nothing. Her country is one of natural beauty and exotic plant-life, grand literature and performing arts. Her traditional recipes and cuisine are celebrated the world over.

But she's not arrogant.

"Please," she says, her hands clasped together with plantain leaf wrapped around her fingers, "listen to what I'm going to tell you, England. Because if you don't learn how to cook, you will never attract a husband. I know this better than anyone."

"I don't need help with cooking," England replies. He's blatantly lying. "I'm fine, thank you, but I appreciate the offer, Sri Lanka. And anyway, who said I was looking for a _husband_...?"

She smiles. "England, dear- you need all the help you can get."

* * *

><p><strong>Six<strong>

Shanto is a type of traditional Guyanese music. Guyana plays it with his citizens and he often takes on the role of guitarist- not only is he excellent with guitars, he's also a brilliant singer. England has always said, with a warm smile and closed eyes, that he could listen to Guyana's music all day.

"It's calming," he admits. "And I've been quite... stressed recently."

"Why?" Guyana asks, even though he already knows.

The entire Commonwealth knows, after all. They just don't want to let England know that they know. They're keeping his secret a secret even from him and Guyana finds it confusing but he won't admit that.

"Because work has been getting to me," England says. "You know... European referendums, fluctuating political alliances and the like. I'm sure you know what I mean."

"Sure," Guyana says, picking up his guitar. "Yeah, I do."

Just not in the way England thinks.

* * *

><p><strong>Seven<strong>

Part of Vanuatu's name means _home_, and he's often told England that he's always welcome in his lands. His islands are paradises in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and he's proud of his jurisdiction, even if it's not as large as other countries.

"You gettin' hitched soon, England?" Vanuatu asks, rolling his khaki trousers to his knees so he can go paddling in the waters. "Have your honeymoon here! I'll make sure you get a good hotel, yeah?" He winks. "I'll make sure the wedding night's not disturbed, yeah?"

"Everyone I know keeps asking me if I'm getting _married_," England says, frowning. "Why?"

Vanuatu freezes, aware he's said too much. "No reason. Just giving you the offer. C'mon, let's go swimming."

England sighs, but he's smiling nonetheless, removing his shoes and socks. "Alright."

* * *

><p><strong>Eight<strong>

Kente cloth is always intricate with unique patterns and shapes, made from interwoven strips of silk and cotton. It's Ghana's favourite thing to wear so she wears it all the time, even when England says the more eccentric patterns give him a headache to look at. The colours all have meanings. She's saddened when people don't know what they mean, so she likes educating those that aren't aware.

"I'm giving you this," Ghana says. "Mozambique tells me she tried to give you brightly-coloured clothes and you turned them down. Well, you're going to wear this Kente cloth because I'm not giving you a choice. Understand?"

The word 'Ghana' means _Warrior King_, so it makes sense that Ghana herself is a Warrior Queen. She's always terrified England, and whenever she tells him to do something, he does it.

"Yes," he says, in a high-pitched voice laced with terror. "I understand perfectly."

"Good," she says, passing him the scarf she's made for him. "It's blue and silver. That means it represents love and joy. Don't be afraid to be in love."

"I'm not in love," England insists, squirming in his chair.

"Of course you're not," Ghana says, with a knowing smile. "But when you _do_ fall for someone, wear this and it'll help you accept it."

* * *

><p><strong>Nine<strong>

Sierra Leone loves playing football. He always wears his national team's football kit because he never wants to miss a chance to play. That's why he loves spending time with England, because England is just as football-mad and they often engage in games with Sierra Leone's locals.

"Think fast," Sierra Leone calls, as he delivers an almighty kick to the soccer ball and blasts it towards where England is standing.

"Fuck!" England says, as he misses the ball and it flies past his shoulder, straight into the net behind him that he was meant to be guarding.

"You're a lame goalkeeper," Sierra Leone laughs, patting England on the shoulder good-naturedly. "You're never usually this absent-minded, though."

"Sorry," England says. "I was miles away. There's been a lot on my mind lately."

"Right," Sierra Leone says, frowning.

It's obviously America that's on England's mind, but Sierra Leone isn't allowed to mention America to England- Australia made that very clear. So instead, Sierra Leone says, "If there's some hot girl you're thinking about, just tell her."

England coughs, prim to the bitter end. "You... You think so?"

"Yeah," Sierra Leone insists. "Who knows? She might like you, too. Who wouldn't? You're a decent enough guy. Y'know, when you're not murdering people..."

"That's it," England snaps, but he's only pretending to be angry. "Rematch!"

Sierra Leone grins. "Bring it on!"

* * *

><p><strong>Ten<strong>

Kiribati loves dancing. There is one golden rule when it comes to his country's dances- the dancers are not allowed to smile as it's considered vulgar because it breaks character. Some people use theatre productions to act, but Kiribati uses dancing.

"If you learn how to dance," Kiribati says, "and you learn how to play music like Guyana can, then you'd be a really fun guy, England. You'd have no trouble with getting a girlfriend." He remembers the rumour that's going around the Commonwealth and quickly adds, "Or boyfriend."

"Pakistan told me not to change who I am," England sniffs. "And I'm content with being single, thank you."

"It's not about changing," Kiribati says. "It's about having fun. Admit it, you'd love to be able to dance like me."

England laughs. "Alright, I confess; it does look like fun."

* * *

><p><strong>Eleven<strong>

Whenever England visits, Dominica tends to serve him with Tamarinds. England likes the taste of them- he's never actually said it, but his eyes always light up when Dominica gives him them, and England sometimes visits Dominica just to have Dominican Tamarinds. Though Tamarinds are not only grown in Dominica's farmlands, she knows that her Tamarinds are the best in the world.

On this particular occasion, she breaks routine and gives him passion fruit.

"What?" is all England can say when she hands him the strange purple item. "This doesn't look very appetising."

"I don't usually eat it raw," she says, taking back the fruit. "I turn it into juice. I'll make you some, if you like." She winks. "And I'll make it alcoholic..."

"Excellent," England says, straightening his back and smirking. "I could do with a good, stiff drink after the journey I've had to get here." His smirk falters. "I've missed you. It's been quite a while since I've last seen you."

Dominica smiles. As much as he pretends to dislike his extended family, he cares for all of them. He just never admits it. He's never been good at expressing affection.

"I'll give you bottles and bottles," she says. "All the passion fruit juice I can make. It's a romantic drink, you know. You should share it with someone special."

"Oh, Dominica," England sighs. "Do you all think I'm lonely? Every Commonwealth realm I've visited so far has been far too interested in my love life- and trust me, I don't _have_ one."

"You should get one," she urges. "If you find someone you like, _get them_. Don't let them slip through your fingers."

Dominica has always been a hopeless romantic.

* * *

><p><strong>Twelve<strong>

Gambia is the smallest country in mainland Africa but he's never let it get him down. He goes fishing to pass the time and helps out his people when he can. They're poor, but they're stable. He likes to think of himself as a country with strong morals. His national religion is Islam, and he follows it closely.

(If he doesn't have faith, Gambia doesn't have very much at all. He needs something to cling on to, something that gets him through the harsh summers and dismal winters.)

That's why he opposes England's feelings for America. They are male, and men should not love other men. But when Gambia sees England with America, and he sees England smiling, and he sees England genuinely happy when he's normally just angry...

Well, Gambia can make an exception, for a while.

* * *

><p><strong>Thirteen<strong>

Nigeria looks over his country with despair. His nation has poor human rights and there's so much crime and violence he sometimes wonders why he bothers waking up every morning. Whenever England visits (and it's not often England musters the courage to step foot in Nigeria at all), England always promises to try his best to help. He knows he's caused most, if not all, of Nigeria's problems, but he's sorry for it all and he wants to help.

"Be happy," Nigeria says. "Seize your chances to be happy, England. You're lucky to have those chances."

"What do you mean?" England says.

Nigeria gives him a harsh stare. "You _know_ what I mean."

"America," England says as the realisation strikes him. The name falls from his lips like a song, like a secret he shouldn't have uttered. "How... How did you know?" Even though Nigeria doesn't reply, England still works it out. "The Commonwealth know, don't they? Australia's told everyone, hasn't he?"

"Seize your chance," Nigeria says. He smiles. It's a weak smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Fourteen<strong>

"I like your flag," England says as he sits in Malaysia's living room. "I really like it, in fact."

"Oh?" Malaysia says, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

"No reason," England says, brushing aside the question. "Can I take one home with me?"

Malaysia looks over at his flag and gives it a once-over. He bursts into hysterical laughter when he realises why England adores it so much. It's because it's ever so similar to the flag of the United States.

"Take that one," Malaysia offers. "Think of it as a gift... Grandpa."

* * *

><p><strong>Fifteen<strong>

When Brunei gained his independence from the United Kingdom, he immediately joined the Commonwealth on the same day. It's because he likes his freedom, but he still likes Britain, too. Especially Wales- Wales doesn't talk a lot and Brunei loves talking. But Brunei likes England, too. England has never argued with Brunei, in all the years they've known each other.

Homosexuality is highly illegal according to Brunei law, but Brunei doesn't raise the issue concerning America when England spends time in Brunei's house. They don't see each other often, after all, and a part of Brunei thinks that, if England really wants to risk his morality by engaging in such a relationship, then it's none of Brunei's business.

Brunei and Gambia agree on a lot of things.

* * *

><p><strong>Sixteen<strong>

"Do you what to know what would make you really attractive?" Samoa asks, as he sits with England on Matareva Beach.

England collapses into the sand, flinging out his arms and stretching out his legs as he replies, "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

Samoa grins. "A Pe'a tattoo. It's really sexy to foreigners, or so I hear."

Curious, England sits up and says, "What's that?"

"It's a tattoo that covers the body from waist to knees," Samoa explains.

England thinks for a moment before his mouth flies open from surprise, letting out a gasp and asking, "You don't mean-?"

"Yeah, it covers your butt too," Samoa says with a shrug. "But it's worth it, right?"

England tries not to look horrified. "Thank you for the suggestion but I think, on this occasion, I'll pass."

* * *

><p><strong>.*To be continued*.<strong>


	2. From Pakistan to the Bahamas

**Two**

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><p><strong>Seventeen<strong>

Pakistan is proud of his national tree but Belize has a national bird- the Keel Billed Toucan.

They're colourful creatures and their call sounds more like a toad than a bird, though Belize loves them all the same. One Toucan in particular follows him around constantly and shares fruit with him; the Toucan feeds him and he feeds the Toucan- it works.

"Would you like to know," Belize asks as he clambers up a tree trunk to get to his Toucan friend's nest, "how Keel Billed Toucans live?"

"They live in trees, I imagine," England says. He laughs at his own joke and slips his hands into his pockets, leaning back to watch as Belize disappears into the branches.

"They work closely together," Belize shouts down. "They raise their children together, they have one mate for life. They're social birds and they can't fly very well so they hop between trees."

"Is there a point to this," England shouts back, "or did you just want to tell me?"

"I'm giving you relationship advice," Belize replies, his head popping out from the leaves to stare at England momentarily before disappearing back into the branches again. "Treat America like you're both Toucans. Stick together and help each other out and you'll be together forever."

"Together forever, eh?" England says, with a snort of amusement. "I don't think I'll be able to put up with America _forever_."

"But you want to try," Belize says. His head appears again, this time on the opposite side of the tree, and he's grinning like a maniac. "Don't you?"

* * *

><p><strong>Eighteen<strong>

Saint-Kitts-and-Nevis is there when England meets with America for the first time in seven months. It's not a pretty sight.

England tries his best to be affectionate but the words stick in his throat and he ends up starting an argument. It's clear he didn't want a fight but he doesn't know what else to engage in, pleading with his eyes for America to understand as he repeatedly insults him. As she sits by England's side, Saint-Kitts-and-Nevis closes her eyes and rests her head in her hands, trying to block out just how badly England's failing at interacting with America after being apart from him for so long.

"Fuck," England says, when America storms out in a huff after being thoroughly offended. "_Fuck_." He turns to Saint-Kitts-and-Nevis with a worn expression. "On a scale of one to ten, dear, how badly did I mess that up?"

"Well..." She bites her lip and tries to think of a way to reply that won't end up hurting his feelings. "It wasn't _that_ bad."

England laughs. "What you mean is, it was terrible."

Saint-Kitts-and-Nevis takes England's hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be okay. Trust me, one day you'll have him."

* * *

><p><strong>Nineteen<strong>

In the 1950s, there was talk of Malta joining with the United Kingdom in political union. It never happened, because she gained her independence in 1964, but she's loved England ever since.

She knows it's hopeless because he doesn't love her back, but she was so close to being his wife and she can't just forget that. England did love her, once, but he's moved on and he thinks she has, too. It hurts to see that he's fallen for someone else- America, no less; he's an arrogant and immature figure with no sophistication and she wonders what he has that she doesn't.

England's biggest fear (as he's confided in Malta, and Malta alone) is a fear of rejection. That's why he can't tell America how he feels.

And that's why, even though it hurts to think it, Malta hopes England is content with America if he ever gets him. Because one day, Malta will move on, and she'll find someone else too. And England will be happy for her, just as she's happy for him now.

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty<strong>

Tanzania is insane.

England is terrified of Tanzania because Tanzania is truly the definition of _lunacy_. His neighbour and his wife, Mozambique, even admits that Tanzania scares her because of his radical views and love for keeping lions as pets.

Tanzania thinks homosexuality should be rejected in all forms and he refuses to change for England's sake. Mozambique is the most tolerant African country in regards to the subject, but she still sometimes bends to the pressure of her spouse. She loves Tanzania, she just wishes he wasn't so bizarre.

But luckily for England, Tanzania is crazy enough to think America is actually a girl.

"Treat your wife well, Mister England," Tanzania says, as he wraps an arm around Mozambique's shoulders. "You should remember how lucky you are when a beautiful woman like America chooses to pick you as her partner."

England is about to say something to correct Tanzania's misinformed view of America's gender, but Mozambique shoots England a glare and he doesn't say anything.

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-One<strong>

"I've heard you have your heart set on someone," Cameroon says, as he leads England through the marketplace in his capital of Yaoundé. "We have an old proverb here that might help you."

"Is that so?" England says, voice flat.

He's obviously tired of hearing useless advice from his family by now, but Cameroon knows _his_ advice isn't useless because it's Cameroonian and therefore it's excellent.

Cameroon clears his throat. "By trying often, the monkey learns to jump from the tree."

England displays a hurt expression. "Do I look like a monkey to you?"

"No," Cameroon says with a laugh. "You have a proverb with the same meaning, England- if at first you don't succeed, try and try again."

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-Two<strong>

Tonga is laid-back like his big brother New Zealand and his best friend is England- out of all the countries in the world, it's Britain that Tonga has known the longest. England is his father figure and his role model.

That's why, when Tonga spies America during a summit of the United Nations, he spends the entire day following America around and spying on him. Tonga will only let someone date England if he thinks they're the very best and Tonga has high standards that he expects America to meet.

It's just a shame that, halfway through the day, America realises he's being watched.

"What do you want?" America demands, unnerved and enraged in equal measures.

"You can't have England," Tonga snaps. "You'll be a terrible boyfriend if you just yell at people."

"What the hell?" America says, raising an eyebrow and adjusting his glasses. "What makes you think I'd want to be that old bastard's boyfriend?"

Tonga is shocked. "Wait... You don't love him too?"

America burns red and his eyes expand. "_Too_? England... loves me?"

"I have said _too much_!" Tonga declares, and he breaks into a run to escape the room before America can say anything else.

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-Three<strong>

Quite a lot of countries in the Commonwealth of Nations are jurisdictions made up of islands. It's fun being the personification for a collection of islands because it allows travelling without having to truly leave home. Sure, Saint-Vincent-and-the-Grenadines is not one of those wealthy nations that go around showing off all the time, but he's small, energetic and comfortable.

Whenever England wants to get away from his family and friends (and enemies) for months on end, he secretly resorts to hiding out in Saint-Vincent-and-the-Grenadines' house. He knows he won't be disturbed because the only other person that visits Saint Vincent is Cuba. (It's because Cuba is Saint-Vincent-and-the-Grenadines' best friend, and they're inseparable when they get the chance to hang out together.)

"You can't hide here forever, you know," Saint-Vincent-and-the-Grenadines says. "I mean, I don't mind having you here, Dad, but it kinda makes me feel like I've moved back in with my parents and that's really lame."

"But Tonga told America," England says, looking up from the newspaper he'd been reading. "I can't ever show my face to the world ever again. America's probably told everyone by now."

Saint-Vincent-and-the-Grenadines shakes his head. "Cuba always tells me if there's any good gossip going around, and he hasn't mentioned you having a boner for America to me so I doubt America's told anyone."

England is irate. "I do not have a-! Sometimes I wonder where I went wrong, having raised such rude children."

"You know we love you, Dad," Saint-Vincent-and-the-Grenadines says with a grin. "You just need to lighten up."

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-Four<strong>

Mauritius is a shy woman that likes singing but doesn't like talking. Her country is very musical, with a fondness for music that outdoes fondness for conversation. Mauritius has learned, purely for the sake of knowing many songs, every Commonwealth country's national anthem.

England is always unmistakably delighted when she bursts into a chorus of _God Save The Queen_ or _Land of Hope and Glory_ and he hums along every time. Though he doesn't like singing himself, he enjoys listening.

"Did you know," she says, "that the American national anthem's music was written by a Brit?"

"No," England confesses. "I sort of blanked out everything America did after the War of 1812, if I'm honest."

"Well, it's true," Mauritius says. She plays an absent-minded rhythm with a Ravanne drum, and England continues to hum along.

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-Five<strong>

Everything about Cyprus oozes romance. His country is the first to have domesticated cats, and felines are the most enchanting of all animals; their inherent grace and poise has fascinated humans for centuries and Cyprus is clearly not immune to their charms. Cyprus is also supposedly the birthplace of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love itself.

"If you take America here with you to my country," Cyprus says, as he strokes his favourite Siamese cat, "he will be under your spell forever, I assure you."

"Forever," England repeats. "You know, everyone keeps telling me about ways to keep America forever. I've not even won him yet. And we probably won't last that long, even if something does happen. Eternity is... Well, it's a long time."

Cyprus smirks. He scratches the ears of the feline in his lap and she purrs contentedly. "If you don't want to use Cypriot culture to charm him, why not just rub his stomach? My cats seem to like it."

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-Six<strong>

For centuries now, Kenya has hated England.

And it's England's fault. Because England encouraged the slave trade and ruined the lives of Kenya's people. There is a difference, Kenya thinks, between civilization and barbarianism. England is on the wrong side of the thick line that separates the two.

Kenya doesn't care about England's pathetic relationship woes- he doesn't owe England anything.

"Sorry," England always says, when he leaves Kenya's land after his (always short) visits. "I'm truly sorry."

For centuries now, Kenya has been trying to move on. Forgive, forget, recover. And for centuries now, he's been getting closer.

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-Seven<strong>

Papua-New-Guinea's citizens are creative folk that he's always been proud of. There are over eight hundred languages spoken by his people- he knows them all, and he uses his knowledge to confuse other nations, in particular England.

"_Brata_!" Papua-New-Guinea greets, shaking England's hand enthusiastically until England has to hop slightly to keep up with him. "It's good to see you again, _bikpela_."

"Allow me to guess," England says. "You're speaking Tok Pisin. Am I correct?"

"Yeah," Papua-New-Guinea says. He's disappointed. "Usually you don't work it out so fast. Have you learned it yet?"

"I know a few words, here and there," England says. "Mainly just the things you generally say."

"You should learn the language properly," Papua-New-Guinea says. "It's the language of love, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-Eight<strong>

"England! Hey!"

He's tackled to the ground by an unknown force as he walks innocently across the Anse Boileau beach, landing face first in the sand, choking on unsettled dust. Something holds him in place, resting on his back, until it moves and allows him the chance to sit up.

"Seychelles," England says, pulling a lone strip of dry seaweed from his hair, "I told you last time, don't jump on me like that."

"But why?" Seychelles asks, tilting her head to one side. "Are you such an old man that you're starting to have back problems?"

She doesn't give him the chance to reply (it would just be something angry and rambling anyway), pulling him to his feet and dragging him by the wrist along the bay.

"We're going shopping," she says. "Your clothes are boring and there's no way America would ever like those drab suits you wear all the time."

"Not you too," England groans, casting his eyes to the heavens. "I've already had to suffer being insulted by Mozambique and Ghana about my clothes. And another thing-"

She kisses him on the cheek and he shuts up immediately. "They have a point, _lanmour_."

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty-Nine<strong>

For almost a century, France and England fought for control over Saint Lucia. Ultimately, England won, because he had just a bit of a crush on her and didn't want to let that 'damned frog' get his 'slimy, filthy hands' on her.

Saint Lucia never liked England back, not in _that_ way, but she's always been fond of him. After all, following decades of letting him down gently, being a good friend to him is the least she can do, or so she's always thought. That's why he comes to her for advice concerning matters of the heart- she is the only one he _truly_ trusts when it comes to love.

"Do I even have a chance?" England asks, as he sits next to her in the gazebo that overlooks the sea. He's sitting just a little bit too close, but it's out of habit rather than infatuation anymore. "Is this as hopeless as... well, you and I, do you think?"

"We were hopeless," Saint Lucia says, "because it was one-sided. But with America, it's clear it's not one-sided."

"Please, Lucia," England says. "Don't lie to me. Just give me your honest opinion. Please."

Saint Lucia lets out the sigh she only ever sighs when she's with England. She pulls him against her and he doesn't protest, even when she strokes his hair like he's some sort of cherished pet. He'd be angry if anyone else tried such a thing, but because it's Saint Lucia, he doesn't mind.

"England, hasn't anyone told you yet that America's loved you since he was a child?"

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty<strong>

He isn't going to lie; he doesn't think it's right at all. He thinks it should be rejected and cast out. It, of course, being 'the love that dare not speak its name'. In his eyes, the most disgraceful of all sexualities.

Because of this, Jamaica has often been called the 'most homophobic place on Earth'.

But he's also big on family. There is nothing more important in life than family. Parents are supposed to raise their children and children are supposed to grow in order to support their parents- it's a cycle of caring and morality. Out of family or showing disgrace, which comes first?

Jamaica is resolute. He makes his decisions swiftly.

"If you wanna be a Batty Boy," Jamaica says with a sneer, "go ahead. I'm not gonna protect you if people fuck you up 'cause of it, England, but I ain't gonna be the one to fuck you up. I promise."

It's the closest to acceptance Jamaica's ever going to get. To some extent, England is grateful.

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-One<strong>

The Bahamas has been compared to Belarus on more than one occasion, but it's not because he follows people around demanding marriage. It's because he has an obsession with getting others married. His country is extremely popular for newlyweds on their honeymoons, and if he wants to have a boosted tourist trade he has to make sure the world has as many newlyweds as possible.

"Y'know what you should do?" the Bahamas asks, as he corners America in a local bar.

(America is on holiday; he hadn't expected to run into the actual Bahamas himself.)

"What?" America says, frowning.

"You should get together with England," the Bahamas replies. "Go on. Go on, do it."

"Geez, first Tonga, now you," America snaps. "Why does his fucking Commonwealth keep trying to get me with him? Did he tell you to do it, or what? Does he like me, or something?"

The Bahamas contemplates telling America the truth, but he chooses not to- it would be wrong to give away England's secrets without England's permission, and Belarus-like tendencies aside, the Bahamas is a decent sort of guy.

"No," the Bahamas says with a shake of his head for emphasis. "I just think England and you would be perfect together."

America's demeanour softens and his eyes glaze over as he thinks about something. "You're wrong there. England and me... It'll never happen."

"Why not?" the Bahamas demands.

America laughs a bitter laugh. "Don't get me wrong, I think England's pretty damn awesome for an old guy and he's, like, one of my best friends. 'Cause I owe him a lot for how he helped me out when I was a kid, but... That's our past. How the hell could we ever have a future...?"

"Well," the Bahamas says, shoving a holiday brochure into America's hands, "you could start by coming here for your honeymoon?"

* * *

><p><strong>.*To be continued*.<strong>


	3. From the Maldives to New Zealand

**Three**

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-Two<strong>

Let it never be said that the Maldives doesn't know how to have fun; her country was the first to have an underwater Government meeting. Her President and his cabinet had gathered in the ocean to discuss climate change. The Maldives has made a habit of diving nowadays, donning appropriate scuba gear and disappearing into the waves for hours.

"You should come swimming," she says, as England sits on the pier and watches her circle him.

He dangles his feet into the water but refuses to submerge himself entirely. "I've done enough swimming to last me a lifetime, thank you."

"Just 'cause you were a pirate doesn't mean you have to be all bitter about the ocean," the Maldives says, throwing back her head and floating on her back. Her hair spirals and sprawls, resting just below the surface and forming intricate patterns in the water. "You should take your little 'friend' America swimming. He'd love you for it. C'mon, join me!"

England shakes his head, resolute. The Maldives rolls her eyes and lurches forward, gripping his ankles and pulling him into the water- he flails, letting out a cry of surprise as he crashes into the sea next to her. She grins and starts swimming away as fast as she can, aware that he'll be chasing after to enact revenge.

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-Three<strong>

Tuvalu is not like the Maldives; he is terrified of the ocean. He's scared that one day the water will rise up and devour him, because his islands are not really that high above sea level.

But Tuvalu is scared of a lot of things. He's scared that his people will one day all leave and go somewhere else, leaving him hopelessly alone, because he doesn't have a large population. He's scared that one day his favourite coconut tree will stop producing fruit. He's scared that his partner Nauru will one day stop loving him. And he's scared that one day the United Kingdom will forget he exists completely.

Before British explorers found him, he was poor. He's still poor, but he's managing to cope with it better. His culture is strong, but it's varied now, split between both a British and Tuvaluan heritage, and that's why he is always quick to ask England if he'll stay for a few more days whenever England visits for a while.

"People are lucky to have your company," Tuvalu says. "I don't get many visitors. Just you, and brother Kiribati, and Nauru. I like it when you visit."

Some of the old colonies think of themselves as England's brothers and sisters. Some think of themselves as his cousins. Some, like Tuvalu, think of themselves as his children. And Tuvalu really was just a child when England found him.

"I'm so sorry," England says, with a small, sad smile. "You know I still love you, Tuvalu, so don't ever forget that. _I'll_ never forget it."

"I know you do," Tuvalu says. "I know you do, but you love America more."

"That's not true at all," England says. "I love America in... a different way."

"Isn't America your child?" Tuvalu asks. "How can you love your _child_ like that?"

"I barely saw him when he was a youth," England admits. "I gave him far too much freedom. That's why he's such an impudent ball of arrogance now, I suppose- I never taught him _manners_. So no, he's not my child. I never counted him as it. I don't really count many people as my children."

Tuvalu's face falls, and England awkwardly tries to embrace him. "You're one of those few, Tuvalu. Don't forget _that_, either."

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-Four<strong>

Tribal women in the Solomon Islands are known for walking around shirtless.

When England and his brothers first took control of the islands after snatching them from the Spanish, he was traumatized at the sight. He was prudish. "Women shouldn't walk around so indecently! And your men should be wearing trousers!"

He hadn't understood how different cultures treated nudity. He'd spent hours trying to ambush Solomon-Islands and force her to wear something to cover herself up. She had pushed him away, forced him back, threatened him with spears.

Their relationship was tenuous.

And then his feelings had changed. He became curious. He followed her around, listened to her whenever she started singing, watched her joining in the dances of her people. He'd decided, as the _grand representative of the British Empire_, that it was his right to marry her off to his brother Scotland.

She had pushed him away, forced him back, threatened him with more spears.

He gave up. (After gaining a broken nose and a black eye, of course.) He didn't bother her again. Today, their relationship is still strained, but only because he really thinks she should wear clothes. Not because he finds it distracting to see her nearly naked, of course. Not at all. That's not the reason whatsoever. (But she knows it is, he's never been a good liar.)

"If you want to _get it on_ with America," she says, as he pretends he's not staring, "just walk around naked."

He grins. "Do be quiet. Or I'll threaten you with spears."

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-Five<strong>

One of the most important things for Namibia's economy is mining. His country has a large amount of gold and silver within its land and he searches for it devotedly, experiencing a swell of pride every time he finds a particularly good amount.

"Look," Namibia says, as he takes a nugget of gold from the sand. "Isn't this gorgeous? Look at how it shines."

"Yes," England says. "It is quite impressive. I've always liked gold. It's a good little source of income..."

"But it's romantic," Namibia says, offering the nugget to England. "Take this and give it to your loved one. There is nobody on Earth who doesn't see love reflected in gold."

"Don't you need it?" England asks, accepting it anyway.

"It's a gift," Namibia insists. "For my favourite European."

He smiles, because England smiles.

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-Six<strong>

Nauru is a happy girl. She was raised by Australia, New Zealand and Britain, so she classes all of them as her fathers of some kind.

Except England.

She does have a soft spot for England, though- she used to have a very different culture but she took on England's culture when he first gained her in his custody. Because of this, she finds him both irritating and adorable.

Her boyfriend is Tuvalu. She likes hanging out on his land, spending hours alone with him as they sit in trees and chase each other across the beaches of their respective islands.

That's why she can understand why England feels so sad when America doesn't talk to him, or argues with him about something. Nauru, unlike much of the Commonwealth, doesn't have a problem with men being together, not anymore. She doesn't mind what people do, so long as it makes them smile and it's not hurting anyone else.

Nauru is a very happy girl, and she wants England to be just like her, so she tells him.

"Be happy," she orders. "Go on."

She doesn't quite understand that people can't simply switch their emotions on and off, but he does his best to live in high spirits around her. America hasn't spoken to him in weeks. He pretends to be fine about it.

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-Seven<strong>

Though Botswana was once an extremely deprived country, nowadays he's doing better due to the diamond trade. He's not big-headed about it but he enjoys using his newfound relative wealth to mock England with.

"I'm going to be as rich as you some day," Botswana says with a wink on one particular Monday. England is always easier to irritate on Mondays, for some unknown reason. "I'm going to have my own Empire. And you're going to be the first country I conquer."

"But I thought we were friends," England says, weakly.

Damn, Botswana hadn't expected England to act _nervous_ about it. He'd expected England to be angry, not _anxious_.

"I'm just joking," Botswana says. "Don't worry."

"Right," England says, but he doesn't sound sure. "Good one. _Haha_..."

Botswana rolls his eyes. "What's happened to you? You used to be like walking fire. Now you're always so boring and miserable all the time."

"America happened," England says with a forlorn expression, and Botswana instantly understands.

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-Eight<strong>

Malawi has been carving terrifying masks for as long as he can remember. It's part of his heritage. Masks are worn during ceremonial dances and he enjoys taking on the persona of frightening beasts, his movements accompanied by fierce roars and intimidating costumes. When he sets his mind on a particular act (usually as a horrific monster or a ferocious lion) he _really_ knows how to stay in-character.

Though Malawi is not a very lucky country, he still does his best to help others when he can, even though if anyone needs help in the world it's him. He's been called "the warm heart of Africa" because of his friendly disposition and that's why, when England sits around and pines for America's attention, Malawi decides to scare America into talking to England again.

(Nobody ever said Malawi was very good at making sensible plans.)

"_Boo_," Malawi says, as he leaps out from behind a box in America's storage room whilst wearing a particularly shocking mask.

America, taken aback by having a monster in his house, screams. Then he realises it's just Malawi in a costume and snaps, "What the hell, dude?"

"Why are you ignoring British Brother?" Malawi demands, knocking America down to the floor in a flying tackle.

America flings Malawi away and sits up. "Which Brit are we talking about here?"

"England," Malawi clarifies, folding his arms and kneeling in front of America as he waits for an answer.

"Oh," America says. His shoulders slump. "I'm not ignoring him. I'm just... y'know, not talking to him."

"But why?" Malawi says. "I was looking around this storage room earlier and you have many things from England. Why don't you talk to him if you like his things so much?"

"They're all gifts," America snaps. "I never stole any of it."

"I don't think you are a thief," Malawi says. "But I think you are a liar by pretending you don't love him."

* * *

><p><strong>Thirty-Nine<strong>

The doorbell goes at midnight and Grenada is irritated, trudging down the stairs to see whoever it is that's dared to interrupt him at this hour of the night. People know not to disturb Grenada when he's sleeping because Grenada is not a morning person.

It's England, displaying a weak grin. "Hello, good to see you again old chap, how have things been, what's the weather like, can I live with you forever and ever?"

"What's happened?" Grenada sighs, allowing England entry to the house. "Usually you hide at St-Vincent-and-the-Grenadines's house when things go wrong."

St-Vincent is Grenada's neighbour; they're close friends and are used to taking turns in hiding England whenever he messes up with something and needs to take cover, but usually England stays with St-Vincent and not Grenada. This is because Grenada is known as "the land of spice" for his nutmeg crops, and England hates nutmeg with a burning passion.

"I _would_ stay with him, but he banned me," England says. "He says I need to 'man up' and solve my own problems. But you wouldn't mind me staying with you for a while, would you? I can always rely on you, can't I, Grenada?"

If there's one thing Grenada knows he's good with, it's responsibility. So he sighs and nods. "Alright, alright, you can stay here for _one week_. That's it. Tell me, why're you even here?"

"Malawi told America everything," England says with a groan. "He even told America I think he's 'as beautiful as a Toucan'. Sometimes I wish Malawi would stay out of things he doesn't understand."

Grenada cackles just a little bit.

* * *

><p><strong>Forty<strong>

One of the rising stars of Africa is Zambia. He's focused on removing corruption from his Government and helping his people out of poverty. Zambia 's working towards being organised, slick and sophisticated, and it's just a shame that England, the man Zambia took inspiration from, hasn't been acting the same way recently.

"If you wish to degrade yourself by choosing to follow _that_ sort of sexuality," Zambia says, "then you could at least do it somewhere else. Stop counting on your former colonies to rescue you, or at least bring us gifts in repayment."

"That's an excellent idea," England says.

Zambia is surprised; he hadn't expected England to listen to him. "You agree that you should stop burdening us?"

"No," England says, "I still need good hiding places. But I'll just get everyone gifts and then they won't mind concealing me! Problem solved." He pauses for a moment before asking, "So, is there anything you'd like me to get for you?"

Zambia shakes his head and sighs, offering England another slice of Nshima and turning back to his paperwork.

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-One<strong>

New Zealand is a happy-go-lucky sort of country, who may or may not have an obsession with sea creatures and a pet kiwi bird named Oz.

"You can hide here with me if you like, England," New Zealand offers, when England is desperate for somewhere to stay until his embarrassment at America learning the truth dies down. "I'll protect you!"

England is hopelessly grateful. "I knew I could rely on you, New Zealand; you've always been such a good child..."

"Sure I am," New Zealand says, as he leads England into his house. "I'm an _excellent_ child, which is why I'm doing _this_."

He gestures for England to enter the living room and England walks in, gullible and unsuspecting. New Zealand quickly locks the door, running away before the shouting inevitably starts. Because also locked in the room, tricked by New Zealand's seemingly honest demeanour, is America.

"Fuck," is all England can say, when America turns around and stares at his former Empire state in shock. "_Fuck_. I will _murder_ New Zealand and all his fucking sheep, too."

"Your Commonwealth," America says, "is full of crazy people! Why won't they leave me alone? I don't _want_ to talk to you! Make New Zealand open the door!"

"I can't," England snaps. "If I could, I would, but he's not going to listen to me- he inherited his disobedience from Australia. New Zealand tricked both of us, it seems."

"Then now what?" America demands, glaring at England with enough venom to make England feel sick. "Why can't _you_ just leave me alone? I bet you're behind all this."

"I very well am not!" England insists. "In case you haven't worked it out yet, I've been trying to _avoid_ you. I have no reason to get locked in New Zealand's living room with you."

"Malawi says you wanna do the horizontal tango with me," America says. "So yeah, you have your reasons."

"The... the what?" England asks. He's never been good with slang, especially America's.

"Knocking boots," America says. "Screwing. Shagging. Fucking. Y'know, sex."

"Oh _God_," England says, hiding his face behind his hands. "That's _not_ the case at all."

All the while, New Zealand and Australia are crouching outside the room, listening intently to the conversation and biting their tongues so they don't burst into hysterical laughter and give away their presence. They allow themselves a high-five, however, silently declaring themselves to be the world's most magnificent diabolical geniuses.

* * *

><p><strong>.*To be continued*.<strong>


	4. From the United Kingdom to Uganda

**AN: **This was written before certain characters became canon, so… here's some genderbents this chapter! Also, the Northern Ireland OC used here was designed by my good friend LucyMoon1992 C:

* * *

><p><strong>Four<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-Two<strong>

People tend to forget, when they think of the Commonwealth, that the other members of the United Kingdom are also part of the countries involved. That's why Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales sometimes accompany their brother on work-related visits abroad- not all of them at once, of course (someone needs to stay behind to protect the Isle of Britain) but one or two every now and again.

Scotland has known England the longest and as a result he's the one that England took along with him to hide out in New Zealand. As the birthplace of Arthur Conan Doyle, Scotland is a keen detective and he soon works out that there's only one possible explanation for why England doesn't return to the hotel they're staying in after his initial visit to New Zealand's house.

He's been kidnapped.

Enraged, Scotland vows to rescue his brother, heading out into the streets of Auckland with a magnifying glass and deerstalker hat. He's just about to depart from his home when a hand clamps down on his shoulder and an indignant cough forces him to turn around to see who's trying to talk to him.

It's Northern Ireland; she's wearing a suit, bowler hat and fake moustache, standing as straight as possible in a vain attempt to match Scotland's height. "If you're off to find England, take me with you!"

Scotland frowns. "_Why_, exactly, should I?"

"Because," Northern Ireland says, flicking back a strand of curly brown hair, "if you're Sherlock Holmes, you're going to need a Doctor Watson. Wales wanted to do it but I wouldn't let him- because clearly, I'm the best Watson any Holmes could ask for."

Scotland grimaces. "I don't need any assistance. But thanks for the offer-"

"You also need some sex appeal," Northern Ireland continues, ignoring Scotland's statement. "And a woman's touch. Because let's face it; you'd never solve any mystery without me doing all the work."

Knowing he's not going to get his own way on this one, Scotland sighs and gives in, marching through Auckland once more (this time with Northern Ireland by his side) until they reach New Zealand's house and stand outside his living room, looking down on where New Zealand and Australia are huddled.

"Open the door," Scotland orders, "and let England go. _Now_."

"But it's so _funny_," Australia says in-between laughs. "He's _so_ trying to get into America's pants."

"That is both disturbing and horrifying," Northern Ireland says. "If you don't free England now, I'll get Wales to declare war on you."

"Not _Wales_!" New Zealand cries. "I don't want to fall out with Wales!"

(Wales is just as fond of sheep as New Zealand is. They've bonded over their mutual farming talents over the years.)

"Don't think we won't do it," Scotland warns, his tone as threatening as he can manage.

"Fine," New Zealand says, getting to his feet and unlocking the door. "Fine, just don't tell Wales."

"Thank you," Scotland replies, as England immediately runs out and clings to his arm, America emerging shortly after.

"For God's sake," England says, glaring at New Zealand. "You're the most impertinent ruffian I know."

America is less eloquent in his anger. He simply states, "Fuck you."

With nothing else to say, the British siblings and America depart, leaving New Zealand and Australia to crack up laughing again.

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-Three<strong>

The _Caesalpinia pulcherrima_ flower is alternatively known as the _Pride of Barbados_ because it's Barbados's favourite plant. She gathers bunches of them, twisting off dead leaves with her nimble fingers and letting loose petals fall to the ground, leaving a trail of bright red in her wake wherever she goes. Those that spot the trail often feel inclined to pursue it- she cannot make people fall in love with her at the drop of a hat, but she can fascinate them into following her, and even England is not immune to her charms.

"Why don't you give America these?" Barbados suggests as she holds out a bouquet of flowers taken from her most treasured _Caesalpinia pulcherrima_ shrub. England has been walking around after her all morning, captivated by the grace in which she dances across her islands. "As a sorry for what happened with New Zealand."

"Do you think it would help?" he asks, keeping ten steps behind because it's only polite for a gentleman to give a lady room. "Or would he reject them?"

"You don't know unless you try," Barbados says as she walks towards him, placing the bouquet in his hands. She smells like the ocean and exotic drinks. "Tell me how it goes."

"Of course," England says, lightly brushing a thumb along the petals, tentative as though he's scared they might shatter under his touch. "You'll be the first person I tell."

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-Four<strong>

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a wife?" Swaziland asks as he leads England through the tall reeds. "Women are friendly and kind and gentle."

"Not all women are," England mutters, thinking of Ghana and fleetingly shivering with fear.

"Come see the Umhlanga," Swaziland says. "You might find a nice woman. A marriage-worthy woman."

"What's the Umhlanga?" England asks with a frown.

"It is a gathering," Swaziland says, "of unmarried virgins. They come here to cut the reeds for eight days and present them to the Senior Queen. And then they dance; they dance beautifully and the King chooses another wife. But out of the women he sadly does not choose, there are many, many good ones. Find yourself a wife, England."

England smiles, but his smile is tinged with grief. "Countries and humans can never be together, Swaziland. I learned that the hard way."

"But you don't need to love her," Swaziland says. His concept of marriage is very different from the Western view. "You simply need to look after her and give her a good life, and she will take your mind off America."

England laughs. "I'm grateful for your suggestion, truly I am, but America is the only one for me."

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-Five<strong>

Rabindranath Tagore is India's equivalent to Shakespeare, she supposes, when it comes to poetry. He was a good man with religious ideals and a great deal of intelligence- she loved listening to him read aloud when he was alive and now that he's dead she still misses him sometimes. They were good friends; he was a proud citizen and she admired that about him.

From Rabindranath, India learned how to read and write. She'd never bothered with it before but he gave her the inspiration and soon she was writing poetry of her own, creating long novels and intricate literature. When the world feels like it's getting to be too much, India retreats into her world of imagination, working out solutions for problems with a fictional backdrop so that when she emerges into reality once more she'll be able to take on anything.

India is an extremely creative country and England adores her for it.

Their relationship was never going to be an easy one but they've moved past _most_ of the bitterness now. England's Bosses have even described their modern-day friendship as "the new Special Relationship" and she likes the implication. He admires her because she's a strong woman who knows how to get what she wants.

That's the only piece of advice she bothers to give. She could have written poetry for him to pass off as his own. She does like writing, after all. But she doesn't want to make England's life _too_ easy for him. "Never be afraid to do what you have to in order to get what you want. God knows you've been a bastard to everyone for centuries, but just because you _love_ America doesn't mean you have to go easy on him, you old fool."

"Thank you for the soul-crushing insults, dear," England says as he picks up his suitcase. "You can be quite cruel when you want to be."

"I learned from the best," India says, lightly kissing him goodbye. He tastes like tea, he always does, because she got him addicted to the stuff hundreds of years ago and she's delighted at that small hold she has over him. "Remember to come back soon!"

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-Six<strong>

Trinidad-and-Tobago gave the world calypso music. He's a demon on the steel drums; every nation knows there is no better drummer than Trinidad-and-Tobago so nobody even dares trying to take his title. When he invites Mauritius and Guyana around, they jam together and they're working together in something like a rock band, sharing musical tastes and musical influences to produce something spectacular.

"If you and America get hitched," Trinidad-and-Tobago says, "I'm playing at the after-ceremony. I've been practising some new songs and I'm just _ace_ with the steel drums, y'know."

"I thought you would disapprove," England says with a sigh of relief.

Trinidad-and-Tobago shakes his head. Why would he have any reason to judge? Sure, homosexuality is classed as illegal in his country but he never does anything about it- the laws are rarely, if ever, enforced, and public opinion is fairly relaxed. Everyone should just be happy, kick back and listen to some good music.

"So are you getting married, Grandpa?"

England frowns. "Alright, I'll answer two things there. One, stop calling me Grandpa because I'm not that old and two... Before I can even think about marriage I'll have to win him over first."

Trinidad-and-Tobago rolls his eyes. "Grandpa. Seriously. You know he likes you, and he knows you like him too, so what's stopping you?"

"You know me," England says. "I can't talk to people very well about these things. People always misinterpret everything I say- I don't know why, but they do."

"Maybe if you told him you loved him with the passion of a thousand drummers, you'd get through to him better," Trinidad-and-Tobago suggests, lifting his drumsticks and starting a solid beat.

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-Seven<strong>

Rwanda was not a British colony but he joined the Commonwealth of Nations in 2009. He's a strong country. He's a fighter. He's never let anything get him down, even though truly horrific things have happened to him in his past and they're still affecting his future and how he deals with the present.

One million of his citizens were killed in a civil war genocide over a decade ago. But he has to smile and lead his country out of the darkness and into the light because if someone can't rely on their own nation, then who can they rely on? Rwanda never forgets that he has a duty to those that are still alive; he can't dwell on the dead.

He joined the Commonwealth because he was scared. To this day he still doesn't know if he's going to wake up and find out _all_ his people are dead, so when he saw the Commonwealth working together and acting like family regardless of their pasts and their views and their opinions... Rwanda wanted that too. He wanted _family_. He wanted stability.

England especially welcomed him with open arms, spending a whole month living under Rwanda's roof to make sure Rwanda was settling in. And when Rwanda had nightmares, waking up in tears and covered in sweat, England let Rwanda sleep in his bed with him. England made Rwanda promise to keep all that a secret because God forbid anyone finds out England can ever be nice to someone. Rwanda doesn't know why England likes it when people think of him as a cold, detached, heartless bastard.

But now, Rwanda tells everything to America. America can't reply to any of it, rendered speechless.

Rwanda is strong, because he's managed to get up every morning despite everything that tells him to keep sleeping.

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-Eight<strong>

Shopping and dining are said to be Singapore's national pastimes. He doesn't mind that food is such a large part of his national identity because boy, does he love food.

That's why, along with Sri Lanka, he despairs of England. If good food came along with a cricket bat and whacked England in the face a few times, England _still_ wouldn't be able to recognise it. He can't cook. It's utterly embarrassing because England's citizens have embraced Commonwealth cuisine and yet England himself still can't get his head around it.

"Sri Lanka tells me you're trying to woo someone, and the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Singapore says. "So here, try some barbecued stingray and tell me what you think."

England is disgusted. "Barbecued what?"

Singapore sighs. "Alright then, if that doesn't interest you, try some oyster omelette."

At the mere suggestion, England looks queasy. "I'd rather not."

"Pig's organ soup?"

"Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack, Singapore? Because it's working."

"Geez, alright, whatever... Fish head bee hoon?"

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-Nine<strong>

Fiji has been suspended from the Commonwealth but there's no hard feelings between himself and England. It's his Government's corruption that earned him his suspension and England knows it's not Fiji's fault- it's the fault of having a bad boss. Fiji still respects England, and he keeps the British Monarchy on his country's banknotes.

"When America and you are happy together," Fiji says, "will you come and visit me? We don't have to tell my bosses. I miss having you around."

England isn't even supposed to be in Fiji's lands, mainly due to their Governments arguing with each other over the suspension, but England still sneaks a visit every now and again after spending time with Fiji's neighbour Tuvalu.

"I'll make sure to," England says with a grin. "I've already promised so many places I'll take America to see them; I might as well declare it a royal tour and invite the Queen along, too."

"Go for it!" Fiji says with a clap of his hands. "Either that, or we could all have a holiday at your place."

England winces. "My house is crowded enough at the minute, what with Northern Ireland breaking everything in sight. She's rather clumsy- either that or she does it on purpose. But I'll make sure to think about it, dear; we can make a day of it and have a proper game of rugby."

* * *

><p><strong>Fifty<strong>

Lesotho doesn't have much good to his name but he does have intelligent citizens; his people have one of the highest accumulated literacy rates in Africa and he makes sure to congratulate them whenever he can. He uses his knowledge to exchange letters with England instead of actually meeting him in person- their relationship is so much more simple when they're simply exchanging mail rather than coming up with conversation and ways of interacting face to face.

Recently, however, Lesotho has taken to writing to other countries too. It's something of a hobby and in particular he's been writing to America.

_If you don't accept England's feelings and return them sufficiently, Lesotho writes, I will find you and threaten you with Solomon-Island's spears._

Lesotho has a feeling America won't be replying to that letter in a hurry, but he's sure America will get the message. Sometimes romance just isn't enough.

* * *

><p><strong>Fifty-One<strong>

Ever since he was a child, South Africa has been indecisive about his own name.

He has eleven official titles because he's always been fascinated with how things are worded. During the horrors of his Apartheid Government he followed India's example and retreated into fantasy, devouring novels and newspapers and everything he could get his hands on. Thus was born his obsession with words, possibly also influenced by his neighbour Lesotho.

"So you're the United States of America," South Africa says, "and you're also known as just America or US, and your human alias is Alfred."

"Yeah," America says. "Pretty neat, huh?"

"Indeed," South Africa says. "And I'm _Republiek van Suid-Afrika, iRiphabliki yeSewula Afrika, iRiphabliki yomZantsi Afrika, iRiphabhuliki yaseNingizimu Afrika, iRiphabhulikhi yeNingizimu Afrika, Repabliki ya Afrika-Borwa, Rephaboliki ya Afrika Borwa, Rephaboliki ya Aforika Borwa, Riphabliki ra Afrika Dzonga _and_ Riphabu__ḽ__iki ya Afurika Tshipembe_."

America's eyes nearly pop out of his head from expanding so much. "How the hell do you remember all that?"

"It's easy," South Africa says with a _tch_ and a flick of his wrist. "They're just my names. It's boring old England that made me into just 'South Africa'- I prefer my other titles, personally."

"England," America says. He sounds bitter, or hurt. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Are you going to get together with him?" South Africa asks. "I think you should. And I'll tell you why-"

"No!" America says, holding up his hands as a signal for South Africa to stop. "No, you don't have to. I already know what you're going to say, anyway. And the answer is..."

South Africa waits patiently as America swallows, pausing for a few deep inhales of oxygen as he tries to summon the courage to finish his sentence.

"England _knows_ I love him. I even _told_ him, ages ago, after the Second World War. But he said he didn't love me back- he told me, in fact, he _hated_ me- so why the hell should I believe people now when they say he likes me? I wanna hear it from him _first_. I don't believe it otherwise."

"I'll tell him that," South Africa promises. "And then you and he will have to pick a name. Kirkland, or Jones?"

America grins. "You know what? I wouldn't even mind 'cause I'd be happy just to have him."

* * *

><p><strong>Fifty-Two<strong>

Uganda doesn't talk much.

He has two official languages but his people speak many more. They're dying out, because people tend to stick to the main languages and leave their old ways behind, killing the older native tongues. Dead ways of speaking, dead like Latin.

So he doesn't talk much, because he prefers to listen. He wants to take in all the old languages and save them, memorise every single word of them all so they'll never truly die out. If everyone else forgets them, then that's okay, because at least Uganda will have them stored in his mind and he'll be able to keep them alive that way.

"You don't need to say anything much," Uganda says. "Do what I do. Just say what matters. Those three words mean a lot."

It's the best advice England has been given so far.

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued- next chapter will be the finale~!<strong>


	5. From Bangladesh to Canada

**Five**

* * *

><p><strong>Fifty-Three<strong>

Bangladesh is a lot like his neighbour India. Their cultures are similar and he's fought various wars for the sake of being able to form diplomatic ties with her.

Depending on which political party is in Government, Bangladesh can go from being in love with her to acting like he completely hates her. His emotions are manipulated by his bosses and he's sometimes forced to pretend he detests India entirely, disallowed the opportunity to follow his heart because he's told to distance himself by bosses that don't understand the ways of the heart.

When he does get the chance to speak with her freely he is honest about his feelings. But he's hurt her so many times before that she just doesn't feel anything for him now, ignoring his declarations of love and dismissing them as false. Why would she be interested in him anyway? He's just another small country that doesn't know what it wants.

That's how she sees him, anyway. But he knows it's not true, because he does know what he wants, and he wants _her_.

"I'm being completely honest here," Bangladesh says. "Your relationship with England would be sinful, Mister America, but I don't think you should miss the chance. Make sure that, if you do use those three words, they _mean_ something and they are not said in vain."

* * *

><p><strong>Fifty-Four<strong>

With a sigh, Canada knocks on America's door for the third time in just as many minutes.

He's cold and he's hungry and he's been waiting outside the house for far too long. He knows America's at home because they're meant to be meeting to discuss current economics, but America _isn't answering the damn door_ and Canada's starting to feel both irritated and worried.

"Who is it?" America asks, his tone one of annoyance as his voice flies down from the open bedroom window. "Is it Canada?"

Canada frowns. "Who else would it be?"

America doesn't reply for a few minutes before he shouts, "Can you come back later?"

Tilting his head to one side, Canada calls back, "Why?"

"I'm... I'm kinda busy."

Canada straightens up and asks, curious, "Busy with what?"

America sounds nearly angry now. "Dude, it's none of your business. Come back tomorrow."

"No," Canada says. For once, he feels like standing his ground. "You _never_ talk to me when you say you will and you always mess up when it comes to meetings and I'm sick of it, so just tell me what it is you're doing that's _so_ important you can't work with me today."

"Seriously, Canada, go away," America urges.

"No!" Canada repeats. "No, I won't! Not until you tell me why you're calling it off!"

A new voice, one Canada recognises far _too_ well, shouts back a reply instead of America. "It's because he's about to do the horizontal tango, that's why."

Then America speaks, but it's not directed at Canada. "For fuck's sake England, did you _have_ to say that?"

"Well, Canada wanted an honest answer, so I gave him one."

Canada gags, a hand flying to his lips at the horrible images seeping into his mind. "Thanks a lot for the nightmares, you guys. Much appreciated."

"You're perfectly welcome," England shouts.

Then there's a thump and America lets out a groan. Canada squeaks in horror and breaks into a run, accompanied by a Keel Billed Toucan that swoops down from the roof.

* * *

><p><strong>Zero<strong>

America wakes up and sighs before shuffling back down under the blankets. He doesn't want to get up; England's breathing next to him and the sound is comforting, his body a soft weight on the mattress and his arms firmly wrapped around America's shoulders. It can't be a very comfortable position for him but he's managing to sleep alright, holding on possessively and muttering things in his sleep.

It's then that America picks up a strange sort of fragrance and his eyes snap open, met by the sight of orange flowers on his bedside table. He vaguely remembers England holding them last night but he can't remember why he'd brought them.

Taking great care not wake England up, America wriggles free from his grip and gets out of bed, walking towards the bouquet and picking up the folded letter attached to them.

_To my dearest America._

_In the last few months, I've been told not to change for you but I've been told to do what makes me happy. I've been offered places to go on honeymoon and I've been offered holiday resorts that I'm supposed to drag you along to also. I've become reacquainted with various cultures within my family and I've been given so much useless advice that my head feels like it's clogged up with it, but the best thing I've been told to do is just be honest, and simple. So here it is. I love you. But, if on the off-chance you feel the same, I feel I should let you know- my extended family will be watching you at all times and they'll make sure you don't set a foot wrong. You have been warned._

_-England, obviously._

Once he's finished reading America grins, places the letter into the drawer of his desk and looks over his shoulder, reaching out to gently shake England until England's eyes flicker open. "Whas'goin'on?"

"I wanted to tell you I love you," America says. "Even though that's not really that impressive 'cause South Africa would have at least one million other ways of saying it or whatever."

England smiles. "Sounds good enough to me."

"By the way, though," America says, tapping a rhythm on England's shoulder that reminds England of Trinidad-and-Tobago's drum. "Next time you go after someone, I recommend you don't send your Commonwealth of Nations Wingman Brigade to hunt 'em down."

England grins, sheepish, and slowly tugs the blanket up over his head. America slips back into bed and pulls it away, resting his head against the nape of England's neck as he shuts his eyes.

He can get up later; the world is still turning and he doesn't have to move just yet.

* * *

><p><strong>SHAMELESSLY FLUFFY ENDING IS SHAMELESSLY FLUFFY. Thanks for reading! 3<strong>


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